


Intermezzo

by Residesatshamecentral



Series: A Plague On Both Your Houses [4]
Category: SS-GB (TV)
Genre: Cold War, Conspiracy, Goya, Huth has poor taste in father figures, bespoke spy stuff, ominous discussions of art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 12:14:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Residesatshamecentral/pseuds/Residesatshamecentral
Summary: Huth reports back and discussions are had.





	Intermezzo

It was just on seven when he reached the villa. The butler did not immediately show Huth into the dining room, but led him silently up the stairs to a small secondary office where Maugham sat silently, his back to the door.

On the wall behind the ancient, balding head was a reproduction of Goya’s The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters. The slumped figure hid its face in its arms as a nightmare flock of owls and bats streamed out from behind him, possessing the picture, a total victory over the ignorant form.

The old man’s eyes burned gently in his head. “Are you certain you were not followed here?” he said softly as the butler shut the door soundlessly and padded away.

“If I were stupid enough to allow that, you would have nothing to do with me” said Huth, sprawling into a chair opposite. “Especially since a mistake of that magnitude would likely mean your throat being opened by one of Springer’s men.” Though how much blood is left in your body is anyone’s guess he added silently.

Maugham nodded. His eyes went back to the etching he had been contemplating. “Look at that, Oskar” he said softly. “Created in 1797. I look at it now and see a portrait of our time – our time, not his. It is as if he knew something, though of course he could not have done. Like all great art it acts as a mirror to those who view it.” He turned away slowly. “Tell me.”

“He is acting as a deniable intelligence asset to the Soviets. They fund him, he has a Russian controller, and in return for what he gives them they look the other way when he tries to further his cause.”

“The cause being?”

“The future of the New Germany.”

“Hmm. Your Springer is clearly an ambitious man, considering the New Germany is rubble of demolished buildings and discredited ideas. And that he is based in France. I recall you describing him as a pragmatist before now.”

“I think he means that that the org supports the economic rebuilding of Germany, but in a certain image. After all, it was remade in Hitler’s image before. With the right nudges, the right favours, they want to place Fascist sympathisers in the right positions of power. I think the fact that he can bother with that sort of thing means that there is much more support than previously believed, and much more funding too.”

“Other Nazis?”

“We must assume so.”

“With Russian support?”

“I think their support would come with more strings attached than a marionette. He seems to view them as a necessary evil. Most likely he keeps for himself any intelligence he can put to real use.”

“So, he is more a warlord than a General now” mused Maugham. From below them, faint sounds filtered up of people getting ready for dinner. “Any hints on just how many people he controls, what assets?”

“He was rather careful to keep me in the dark over that” said Huth. “I saw five of his minions, not including my contact, all common or garden ex-military. They were suspicious of me. He was using a disused office building as HQ, but I would bet my right thumb the real nerve centre is elsewhere.” Huth paused. “He gave me as little as he could, while maintaining the appearance of welcoming an old friend. And just enough to make his power known.”

“Do you mean that it was all pretence?”

“No. I think…I honestly think he was very glad to see me.”

“But you think he would kill you if he had a reason.”

“Yes.”

Maugham’s eyes strayed back to the painting. His expression was strange. He had some of absorption and reflected passion of someone watching a murder onstage. “Human nature never ceases to surprise me” he said half to himself. “Even this dreadful man, who has given up so much of his own humanity.” Below them, the low sound of a gong summoned them to dinner.

“I doubt you will have much of an appetite” said Maugham, rising unsteadily out of his chair “but without wishing to be insensitive I do urge you to make the effort. Dinner is crab tonight, and it would be a disservice to art not to appreciate it.”


End file.
